


One Night

by charmedtomeetyou



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-29 22:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20443754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedtomeetyou/pseuds/charmedtomeetyou
Summary: Despite her best efforts, Emma can't get Killian off her mind. They're friends, they're 'kindred spirits,' they're heroes fighting for the good of the town, but all of that gets muddled by her attraction to him. She just needs to get it out of her system. Scratch the itch and move on. Killian sees things a little differently.Set in 3B. You could consider it a deleted scene or canon divergent, depending on how you look at it. Canon adjacent?





	1. Proposing a Solution

**Author's Note:**

> The rating doesn't come into play until the next chapter, FYI. Also I'm not sure how many chapters. Probably just 3?

She may have been lying when she’d said she’d never been in love back on the beanstalk - the feeling, anyway, _that_ she had experienced. But a true loving _relationship_? That’s a sorry, charlie hell no. It’s absolutely true she’s never been in _that_.

Neal was... he was a desperate attempt at finding home. In a way she’d been right about him. Technically. He gave her Henry, who ultimately brought her to Storybrooke and her whole family. Neal was a step in her overall journey to home. But he was also a selfish escapist with daddy issues and sticky fingers who had taken advantage of a Lost Girl.

So after that brief saga ended and after all hope had been robbed from her those two years waiting in Tallahassee, love wasn’t really a goal anymore. Companionship, maybe. But even that was brief.

_Scratching an itch_, she’d always called it.

Which might explain why her emotionally traumatized brain seemed to short circuit when it came to Killian Jones AKA Captain Hook AKA the only non-fictional man to ever make her heart flutter and her panties wet with little more than a glance. She’d already found her home - Henry - so the attraction couldn’t be that childish pursuit of not being alone (if anything she could do with slightly _more_ alone time these days).

So that left one conclusion: she had an itch. Scratching it would make it go away and maybe her brain could function normally again and focus on the life and death scenarios they were dealing with on a daily basis instead of drooling over a pirate with stupidly perfect hair and a penchant for excessive leather.

One night. One night would solve all her problems. 

(Probably create a few more, too, but that was a problem for Tomorrow Emma.)

As she often does, she found him at the docks. It didn’t make much sense; why wasn’t he on his ship? And where _was_ his ship? There was still so much in everyone’s Missing Year that she didn’t know - that no one knows - except for Hook. And he resolutely refused to reveal more than some basics, no matter how much she’d pried during their drive back from New York City.

(Oh, that drive. A source of so much itchy frustration. The man she didn’t remember but somehow still missed almost painfully while she was “safe” and oblivious in The Real World.)

He looked distant tonight, almost... sad. Until the click of her black leather boots alerted him he was no longer alone.

Pirate Swagger: Activated.

His change in demeanor should have caused her whiplash, but this was them. Full of insecurities, anger, bitterness, grief... all patched over with confidence and a poison of choice (greasy diner food for her, rum for him, obviously).

“To what do I owe this immense _pleasure_, Swan?” His voice boomed like he was headlining at the community theater.

(In many ways, wasn’t he?)

“Just out for a walk. Thought maybe I might find some good company down here,” she offered. He needed to know it was Friend Emma he was dealing with tonight and not I-Hate-How-Hot-You-Are-So-I’m-Just-Gonna-Yell-at-You-Emma.

Of course she was hoping to add some benefits to the friendship, but hey, what are friends for?

“Sadly you missed Smee by just this much.” He pinched his fingers together in front of his (adorable) scrunched up face and then reached for the flask in his jacket pocket. “Alas, you may have to settle for mediocre company that only upgrades to ‘good’ after some of this.”

Ah, Self-Deprecating Killian has come tonight. Good to know.

“Are you suggesting you’re more tolerable when you’re drunk, or that I’m more likely to tolerate you if I am?”

“Why, both, of course!” He popped the cap off and took a hearty pull, offering it to her as he swallowed.

“Contrary to popular belief, I actually kind of like you. Both when you’re not yelling at me and a little when you are. No alcohol required.” She accepted the flask and drank probably half its remaining contents before daring to look him in the eye.

“Then you’re hogging the last of my good Enchanted Forest rum because?”

“Because I like you.”

There was a brief but definite glitch in the Pirate Swagger. A moment of genuine confusion. (For which she couldn’t really blame him.)

“I’m not following, love.”

“I like you. As a person. We’re friends now, right? I mean we’ve kind of been through hell together. In... three realms now? And you weren’t exactly wrong about the ‘kindred spirits’ thing. And it’s been a long time since I had a real friend. You know, one who isn’t secretly _my_ mom or who was just another mom at my kid’s school who really only talked to me about standardized testing and who was picking the boys up from soccer practice.”

“Soccer?”

“Conversation for another day.” She shook her head dismissively and took another shot of (very strong) rum to finish her half-practiced little speech. “Point is: you’re my actual, honest-to-God friend and I can’t go fucking that up by being weird around you all because of a little... lust.”

Pirate Swagger totally disintegrated and Killian stepped toward her, his hand reaching for hers before twitching and falling to his side. “Swan, I would never suggest anything you didn’t want to do and there’s no reason to be ‘weird’ around me, as you’ve said. I’ve been nothing but honest with you about my feelings, but I’ve no intention to pressure you and besides, I’ve made a promise to step back, and...”

“But I want to!” she shouted, probably loud enough the wolves at Granny’s heard her (her heartbeat was just about as loud).

“Want to,” he repeated flatly, like she’d just spoken fucking Greek or something.

“Yes, Hook. I want you. But I like you and I can’t lose your friendship. So I think we just need to... get it out of our systems.”

Killian was silent for longer than she’d probably ever seen. She’d be taking pride in stunning him into silence if she weren’t so focused on her terrifying truths and her very risky proposition.

Finally, after she was certain a curse had been cast on his voice for him to have stayed quiet for so long, he spoke: “What exactly would you be getting out of our systems?”

Ugh. He had to go and make this harder by not embracing the euphemisms and idioms of modern American English.

“The lust, the attraction, the desire... I don’t know what you want to call it. It’s just an itch that needs scratched and then we can move on with our lives.”

“... what?” Was all he could say, and she’d entered a whole new realm of frustration. There wasn’t enough rum in all of Maine for this shit.

Guess it was time to spell it out. “I think we should have sex. I think we should go back to Granny’s, have a few more shots of this or any other liquor, and then fuck the living daylights out of one another, 2-3 times minimum. And then we’ll go to our separate rooms and sleep it off and when we wake up tomorrow we can just be friends, plain and simple.”

Hook snatched the rum back from her and then poked her in the side with his namesake before finishing off the flask. “And what makes you think one night is enough? Most women beg for more.”

“Have I ever been ‘most women?’”

“No, you most certainly are not.”

Silence fell again and despite the potential awkwardness and the slight risk of rejection, her whole body was buzzing with anticipation that she might finally know what could have naturally followed that kiss in Neverland: his hands under her shirt, her mouth on his neck, her bare back pressed into the forest floor....

That was it. Just recreate that moment. _That day_ was the problem that started all this. That was the poison ivy that caused the itch to begin with. One night with him... that was the cure.

“Don’t think you could handle it?” She challenged.

But he didn't take the bait. He very much rejected the bait and retorted with the opposite of flirting.

“I don’t think you understand basic human emotion, Emma,” he snapped back.

“I...”

The wind blew, smelling of salt and snow. The waves crashed against the ships moored along the docks, the sounds of little splashes and thunks of metal-on-metal the only sounds aside from their breathing.

Looks like Tonight Emma had a problem after all.

Killian exhaled, his shoulders still held tight and his fist in a ball.

“Look, Swan, I’m sure you assumed this would be flattering to me and maybe you even thought this was what I actually wanted, but let me be clear: I don’t have an _itch_. I don’t want one night and I’m... just shy of _devastated_ that you think that little of me and my intentions.”

“Your intentions? First you said you were going to win my heart and then you said you weren’t going to touch me. Your intentions have never been clear.”

“They have been and you know it! I promised to win your heart, Emma, not your cunt.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, tiny beads of sweat evident at the edge of his forehead.

With an exasperated smile and a dark chuckle, he continued, “sweet as it might be, love, it wouldn’t be enough for me. Perhaps for you it would suffice, but I can promise I could _never_ have my fill you of you.”

The wind picked up again, a bell ringing out from a rocking boat as Emma pulled her leather sleeves further down her wrists.

“Killian,” she whispered, her throat burning from the cold or the rum or the... fear. “You’re wrong.”

His mouth ticked up into a little smirk as his right eyebrow inched toward his hairline on an expression that despite the tension could only be described as devastatingly handsome.

“Are you just so used to arguing with me that you’re disagreeing by reflex now? I’m not sure what exactly you’re suggesting I’m wrong about.”

_Always trying to make her smile._ He was definitely too good a friend to lose. Especially over... hormones. Or false expectations.

“The whole... ‘enough’ thing, Hook. You probably do believe it’s something more but it’s not. It never is. I’m just... you saw me as a challenge and a conquest. And, well, I _do_ look pretty great in a tank top and leather boots." She chuckled a little, trying to reciprocate his attempt to diffuse some tension with humor. "So it makes sense that you feel something and want something and I’m telling you... just give it one night and it’ll be gone. And then we can just be normal friends.”

His grin fell and he stepped forward, very cautiously reaching his hand and hook for her now shaking hands.

She took them.

“I’m starting to think we all would be better off in the Enchanted Forest if this realm has made you believe _anyone_ would have had enough of you after one night, love. But as for me... well, I’m a man of much experience, darling. A man who has had a lot of one nights. I know the difference. And the difference is you.”

At that, Emma let out a cough or a sob or a laugh at this nonsensical out-of-body experience.

“Do you always hit on women by telling them how many other women you’ve fucked?”

His answering smile was fuller than any up to this point. “No, I’ve reserved that one just for you.”

How could anyone’s smile light up a whole night like his could? She had to be delirious. Maybe the rum was laced with something. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe she’d gotten hit by a drunk dwarf on her walk to the docks and she was having a vivid pre-death dream about the one that got away (without actually leaving).

But then he squeezed her hand and she could feel the warmth of his body, the cool contrast of his steel hook, the wind tangling her once perfectly curled hair, and most of all the ache in her gut that was threatening to swallow her hole.

“Killian, please. Let me prove it. Just one night. I’ll roll out of your bed and you’ll happily fall asleep - well satisfied, I’ll add - and then you’ll wake up and you won’t want me any more than you want David.”

“I knew I wasn’t hiding my attraction for him very well. Damn it!” He comically stomped his foot and shook his head and her whole body was tingling.

“Hook! I’m serious. Let me prove you wrong. It’s just the chase; it’s just attraction. If we’d just followed through in Neverland, we’d already be cool by now. Come on. You know you want to finish what you started,” she dared him, hoping that her pleas have made a difference, embarrassing as they were.

The wind picked up again, her hair whipping across her face. Killian brushed it aside with his hook, his expression suddenly as serious as hers likely was _desperate_.

“And what happens when I’m right?” he asked softly, not breaking eye contact even as little bits of dirt and sand pelted them, the wind now carrying bits of the beach through the air.

“You’re not," she said. (You're not stubborn when you're right.)

“But _what if,_” he challenged

“Then... then whatever you want, I guess. But don’t get ahead of yourself, buddy. I'm pretty confident on this one.”

“Of course, Swan,” he said, releasing her hand and turning toward the cannery. “Let’s get inside before this blasted weather turns into a curse or something, eh?”

“Lead the way.” She gestured toward Granny's, his leather jacket brushing against her leg as he followed her command.

Just one night. One night in his bed, in his arms, in her heart. One night, one _scratch of the itch_, and the fever would break. The fog would lift. Her sanity would return, and she could go back to the insanity of her life being limited to flying monkeys and a pregnant mother instead of focusing on the electricity that crackles in the air every time Killian makes her smile.

One night and it would be over.


	2. Experiment

Did Granny’s somehow magically get _further _from the docks in the last half hour? Because they had to have been walking an hour by now. At least.

Shit. This was so incredibly stupid.

Hook walked slowly, not quite next to her but not totally in front of her either. They’d been silent, focusing exclusively on navigating to the Inn and not getting blown back to Neverland with the raging storm.

At least it wasn’t snow?

Emma’s gut was either on fire or possibly sinking into the core of the Earth itself. Maybe both. It was just nerves, of course, but it had been actual fucking years – a decade or more, really - since she felt nerves like this. She’d battled a dragon and ogres, she’d sailed off on a ship that _flew_, she’d met her birth parents who happened to be actual fucking fairy tale characters, and yet she’d never been this anxious.

Forget butterflies in her belly. This was like… Dumbledore’s phoenix on the verge of explosion.

Was Harry Potter real out there somewhere, too? That could be quite a fun adventure. Then again, it was never really like the stories we knew, was it? “Real” Harry Potter was probably a douchebag. 

Nope, the distraction tactics weren’t working. The nerves were raging, her hands were shaking, and somehow the stupidly hot pirate seemed cool as a goddamn cucumber.

Holy shit. She was going to fuck Captain Hook.

Killian Jones was going to see her naked.

Rum. She definitely needed some more rum.

“Already regretting this, love?” Killian asked her, surprisingly sincerely despite his look of teasing. At that moment, she realized they’d actually taken the long way to Granny’s, circled a few blocks, even. The bastard was giving her time and space to back out.

(As if she was going to chicken out on her own dare. Plus, it wasn’t even a dare! It was more like… an experiment. Hypothesis: just an itch. How do you know if you’re right? Test it. And she was going to be right.)

She chuckled but it came out weak. Much like her knees at the moment and her will to deny that she’d never, _never _felt about a man the way she felt right now, staring at Hook as he calmly waited at the side entrance to Granny’s, steadfastly not opening the door for her until she signaled she was still in.

“Let’s get on with it, Jones,” she retorted, her eyes rolling so far back in her head she was likely to give herself a headache.

He finally extended his hand and twisted at the knob, pulling open the door and standing aside, bowing to signal her to enter. “I think ‘get off’ is the more accurate phrase, wouldn’t you say, Swan?”

_Yeah, I mean I’m desperately trying to get you off my mind. So._

“Are you just competing for most innuendos in one night? Because if you’re just here for the wordplay…”

She stepped in the door and he quickly followed, their voices and footsteps seeming loud now that the Inn’s door was blocking the howling wind.

“You’d be surprised how much I can do with my mouth. _Without _touching you.” He brushed past her as they ascended the stairs, his key jingling against the flask in his pocket as he dug for it.

She definitely already knew what his words could do. But that was it, wasn’t it? It was the teasing and the flirting. It heightened everything. He was full of charisma, like an actor. Or a serial killer. It wasn’t real. Once the words stopped, the actions would speak for themselves. Tomorrow she would go back to feeling nothing in her belly but the slight heaviness that came from consuming a grilled cheese that was more butter than bread and onion rings served in a portion large enough to feed a family.

“Uh huh,” was all she said in response.

He put the key in the lock, but didn’t immediately turn it, instead looking to her one more time. No swagger. No charisma. Just 100% sincerity. “Emma, are you _sure_?’

She was definitely going to vomit.

“Come on, pirate. You want me? Let me in.”

He chuckled and waved his hook toward her, sing-songing, “not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!”

What the –

“Are they real, too?” she squealed, probably waking every single patron at Granny’s and perhaps a few neighbors along with them.

“Who’s to say what ‘real’ actually means?” he said seriously, before laughing it off again and finally, _finally _opening the goddamn door. “I’ve no idea love, honestly. Dave just showed me some books they got for your new sibling and I was curious.”

Killian held the door for her and then closed it gently once she was inside. He kicked off his boots (with surprising ease), so she did the same (albeit with much less grace).

“Are you friends with my dad now?”

“I wouldn’t call it _friends_, necessarily, but I think he sometimes just needs some male company.”

She slipped off her red leather jacket as he discarded his large one, each resting on a hook on the back of his door.

“You weren’t kidding about the attraction to him, then? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Their banter calmed her. Made her feel safe. Made her forget that she literally requested they “go back to his place and fuck the living daylights out of each other.”

_Why, Emma, why. You need a fucking vibrator. And definitely some privacy._

“Right now, my attraction is to one person and one person only and _she_happens to be standing in my room. So.”

_Fuck. No more stalling. Just get it over with._

She tried for her best saucy smirk as she reached for the bottom of her sweater, arms crossing and pulling up just enough that he’d probably seen her abs and the bottom of her bra – before she felt his hand and hook push it back down.

“Ah, ah, ah, Swan. I’m aware you see this as some kind of business transaction to be sped through, but I’ve got as much to prove to you as you do to me.

“Oh, so you want to slow it down and make it even more of a game? You’re already proving my point for me. It’s all in the _chase._”

They were standing very close now, his hand still toying with the fabric of her sweater, his warm breath tickling at her nose.

“Perhaps the ‘chase’ as you call it heightens the enjoyment, love. But one way or another you’re already caught. If it were only the chase I would have taken you against the harbormaster’s desk just off the pier, thirty seconds after proposing sex. Mostly clothes-on. You facing away from me. Hard and fast. I’ve done it before and I could very well do it again.”

She needed to stop getting turned on when he was reminding her that he’s been a manwhore for about as long as her home country has existed. And she needed to not feel throbbing between her thighs at the prospect of him fucking her against a desk. Or a barrel. Or the helm of the Jolly…

No!

“Again with the other women talk. It’s not really doing it for me, dude.”

“Swan.” He took another small step forward, this time bringing his hand to her cheek to cup it so gently it practically hurt. “My point is to highlight exactly how much you are not any of them. I’m not naïve, love. You have a son, first of all, so clearly you have some experience. You’re also the most beautiful woman – entirely objectively – that I’ve seen in any of the many realms I’ve traveled. You’ve had your share of boys and men. And is this like any of them?’

_Not even in the same galaxy _was her reflexive thought. But no. That just wouldn’t do.

She nuzzled her cheek into his palm, pressing her chest against him as she started to speak again. “You think you’re just so special. Maybe I can’t recall ever feeling quite this way about a man. But I also think I haven’t gone this long in my life without an orgasm, so again, don’t get ahead of yourself. Being horny can make us all a little crazy. Then we relieve ourselves and go, ‘what the hell was I thinking’ and move on with our lives.”

She wasn’t playing fair. As she spoke she very gently rubbed her breasts against him and slid her hand across the laces of his pants. It was just a fog of arousal and it would be lifted as soon as he fucking got on with it.

“Sounds like a very bleak sex life you’ve had, love. Perhaps you need someone to show you how it could be.”

“Perhaps I’m the one who could show you a thing or two,” she said huskily, her palm firmly cupping his near full-mast erection straining at the leather.

And that’s about where the dam broke.

His hand, previously gentle on her cheek, was now threading through her hair and pulling her toward him. His mouth was on hers with a force not unlike the fist time they did this dance in Neverland, but this time there was no hesitation, no shock, no resistance. She melted into him, reveling in the warmth of his tongue against hers and his arms around her.

The nerves she’d been fighting all night, the fiery phoenix in her belly finally burned and with a (metaphorical) blinding light of clarity, she wasn’t anxious anymore. She was eager and excited and relieved and energized and most of all she was deeply, profoundly _happy _to be touching this man the way she fantasized about daily.

It’s not like she didn’t know how he kissed. They’d done this once before. Plus, he was a bit of a show-off. Talking himself up and always seeming to prove himself right on his skills. At anything and everything. Of course he’d be good at this.

He was a pirate.

But it wasn’t aggressive like that. Frantic, yes. Hard, definitely. She was probably going to have marks just from where he was gripping at the base of her scalp and his hook? Well it was digging awfully sharply at her back.

Hell, he’d probably have marks himself from her fingernails and he’d definitely have some from her mouth. He’d pulled back to take a breath, but she couldn’t stop herself, needed to feel him everywhere, needed to make him melt like she’d been melting for weeks.

But none of it was aggression. It was desperation, pure and simple.

He sighed when she licked the cords of his neck and then moaned when she stopped to suck just below his chin where she could feel his heartbeat racing along to match her own.

A few seconds, a few groans, and he brought her mouth back to his, starting to walk her back toward his small bed against the wall. There wasn’t much furniture, so their journey was short and when she heard his calves knock against the bed frame, she pushed at his chest so he would sit down.

For a split second confusion flooded him, his eyes suddenly fearful, but his relief was tangible when she nudged him to scoot back and she climbed into his lap, one knee on either side of his hips.

Like magnets their mouths came back together, words and fully formed thoughts disintegrating. It’s like there was nothing left in existence but the feel of his body against hers and the flames in her chest that for once weren’t hurting but were just building and begging for more and more and _more_.

Despite the fury in their kisses, the way they pressed their lips together harder, plunged their tongues deeper, the rest of her body was much calmer. She rocked against him, his erection pushing perfectly on a seam in her jeans, but softly. Slowly. Unconsciously, almost. And he pushed back into her, particularly in response to some of her gasps and whines, but he didn’t seem in any hurry for this to end.

She could kiss him for a hundred years if he let her.

(The terrifying part was he might.)

Thought was creeping back in and with it the fear of what Tomorrow Emma would face, so that’s when it came time to get this show on the road.

She ground down on him with purpose, the feel of him hard against her almost as arousing as the strained moan that escaped him as she rolled her hips. A moment passed where he seemed to be focused entirely on not coming in his pants and then his focus returned to her, a fire in his eyes as his hook slipped up her back beneath her sweater and his mouth closed around the soft skin just above her clavicle.

Emma’s hands and feet were already tingling and her chest felt on the edge of boiling. Her understanding of ‘all-consuming’ had been seriously flawed before this moment, because all coherent thoughts were forgotten, her own breathing less important than the electricity between them when his hand grasped the neck of her shirt and yanked it down so he could bury his face in her chest, licking all over until he found the edge of her bra and pulled it down as well, her full breast now exposed. The chill in the air shocked her for just a moment until his lips closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking against it rhythmically. With every lash of his tongue there was a throb down low in her belly, one too strong to find relief just grinding against him.

His mouth was everywhere, his hand holding her so tightly against him that she could feel every breath he took, every skip of his heart, every twitch of his cock. The need to be fully exposed to him was nearly unbearable, but she couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but take what he was giving her and try not to collapse into dust in the process.

His hook had been cool against her, just rubbing the skin of her back, but then he adjusted, tugging gently upward and away from her body.

Her first reaction was something like _please god no don’t stop touching me_, but she quickly realized he was simply trying to get her shirt off.

Emma pulled back from him (against all her base desires) and swatted his hooked arm away, ripping her shirt off on her own.

“Didn’t want to rip it, love,” he mumbled, his mouth back on her chest before her shirt was fully off her arm.

“Like I care,” she responded, unclasping her bra and throwing it aside as well.

The light was still on in his room – they had gotten caught up before either ever thought to turn it out – so she was as exposed as she’d been in quite some time. She really was a good looking woman, she knew that, but objective assessments don’t quiet irrational fears. Being open to someone, literally, meraphorically, physically… it was terrifying. Especially when it’s someone who matters and like it or not _he_mattered and he had all the power in the world to shatter her.

But he just looked into her eyes like she was something precious, something rare, and something he would do everything in his power to keep from being shattered.

And then he quickly and thoroughly resumed ravishing her breasts and she was absolutely 95% ready to come from just that when she couldn’t fucking handle the waiting anymore.

She sloppily brought his mouth back to hers as she unbuttoned his waistcoat, easing it off his shoulders and dropping it on top of her bra. The shirt he wore beneath it was soft but solid – clearly something crafted in the Enchanted Forest and not picked up at a nearby Macy’s – and it should have reminded her exactly how fucked up this was, how much they never should have even met one another, being from different lands and times and absolutely everything on paper pointing to nothing more than two ships passing in the night but instead it felt like _home_as she eased it up his torso and gently worked it past the brace of his hook before tossing it clear across the room.

He was heavily scarred, another detail that should have highlighted their many contrasts, but really how _similar_were they? Kindred spirits could find each other across any realm and any time and the scars they shared with one another could be visible or not – no matter, it was still all real.

This was real.

They were real.

And Emma was absolutely fucked.

Because it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough. She wanted more already and she hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet. She wanted to see every scar, wanted to trace them with her tongue and leave trails of little kisses from each to another, wanted to worship every bit of evidence of the life he led for two hundred years before somehow he found her.

One night wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough. And she could run now, could throw on her shirt and bolt down the hall to her own room, hop in the shower and finger herself until the lust haze passed.

She was _going_to run. There was no denying that.

But she couldn’t let herself miss out on just one night of feeling like she belonged _with_someone, like sex was more than some stimulated nerve endings and a release of dopamine.

She didn’t know all-consuming before now, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to feel it fully, even if it was the only time it would ever happen for her.

So she stood up from his lap, hands shaking, and unzipped her jeans. She held eye contact with him as she slid them down her legs, shimmying at first and then stepping out of the legs one by one. She left her panties on for the time being and kneeled in front of him, slowly untying the laces of his pants. He stood in front of her and she tugged them loose, pulling them off his feet as he lifted them one by one.

He apparently wasn’t a believer in underwear as he was now fully nude, save the for the hook and brace.

And he was gorgeous. From his toned muscles to his lightly scarred skin to the dusting of dark hair across his torso to his thick, slightly curved cock, there wasn’t a single thing about him that didn’t make her drip.

It would have been like him – the usual him – to comment on her awestruck chin-on-the-floor expression, but he didn’t say a word. Some moments were just… too big.

Already on her knees and desperate to make him feel good, she firmly grasped his hips and licked the tip of him. It was just light little flicks of her tongue at first, but she needed to feel him in her, to feel how much he wanted her, so she closed her lips around the head and sucked. He grunted and grasped the back of her head once again, not pushing her but seemingly grounding himself. She released his hips and brought one hand to fondle his balls while the other grasped the base of his shaft so she could suck it deeper into her mouth, laving it with her tonge and she bobbed her head.

Killian’s grunts were encouraging her to keep going deeper down her throat and more, _more_until he sharply yanked at her hair, tugging her back from his twitching cock.

“Not like that,” is all he said, breathless and nearly shaking.

She licked her lips and reached for him again, pumping him very gently this time. “How then?”

She stood up, quickly stripping her panties and stepping out of them. Freezing rain seemed to be pelting the window and the wind was still raging, but the howls had subsided. There was a clock somewhere in the room but Emma couldn’t have told you where – then again, she wasn’t specifically aware of anything in the room that wasn’t Killian. Or his bed.

He was staring at her, which usually made her cranky, uncomfortable, or paralyzingly self-conscious. But she kind of liked it. She’d be OK if he stared at her like that pretty much forever.

Except _no_.

“On your back, Emma?” he suggested, truly leaving it as a question (one that there was absolutely zero chance of her refusing, but, well, he probably didn’t realize that in this moment).

Instead of responding, she moved past him, sitting down at the edge and then swinging her legs so she was supine. She got brave as he turned back to face her, letting her legs fall open and exposing herself fully to him.

Which shouldn’t be a big deal. Nudity wasn’t exactly taboo when you were going to have sex. But lights on, fully nude? That’s something she’s literally never done in all her 30 years of life.

Never.

But he smiled at her, a smile almost too sweet or innocent for the circumstances, but a _real_one. A joyful one. Not the pirate smirk or the grin to mask pain or even the smile of triumph when one of their quests are successful.

It was different. Special.

Like he was special to her.

Fuck.

Before she could overthink or panic, he kneeled on the bed between her legs, unscrewed his hook, and tossed it with a _thunk_onto the night stand. He leaned his body weight on the brace at the stump of his left arm while his right hand explored her body fully, caressing down her sides, tickling the backs of her calves, and finally brushing between her legs, gathering her wetness and swirling it around until he was making little circles right on her clit.

She started shaking and he brought his mouth to her breasts again, likely planning to make her climax that way, but that’s not what she wanted. She couldn’t allow it, actually, because if her mind had even a few seconds of actual clarity the fear would send her running before she could even dress herself.

And if her fear was going to allow her one orgasm and one orgasm only, it was going to be with him inside her.

“Not like that,” she whined, pushing at his chest to separate him from her stiff nipple. Before he could question or interject, she whispered simply: “inside. Please.”

“As you wish.”

_Of fucking course_.

He kept his left forearm on the bed to brace himself and took himself in hand with his right, spreading Emma’s wetness down his shaft to ease entry. She squirmed as he lined himself up and just before he entered her, he took her left hand in his right, threading their fingers together and pinning it to the bed.

He eased himself into her slowly, so slowly, that she could feel every ridge of him, could feel every twitch and breath and beat of his heart alongside hers. Part of her wanted to kiss him senseless, to connect everywhere they could, but the other part of her – the harder to resist part – wanted to watch him. The ripple of his muslcles. The sweat on his brow. The ecstacy in his eyes as he hit bottom.

He started thrusting lightly, just small movements deep inside her that had her throbbing already. With each thrust he’d pull further and further out until finally he was the whole way out of her, leaving her feeling hollow before he’d slam back inside, rocking her center of gravity and igniting nerves she didn’t know existed.

It was hypnotizing, watching his cock plunge deep inside her and back out, but even more heady was watching _him _watch it.

All-consuming. It was clear he understood it, too.

Eventually the urge to be pressed fully against him was too strong and she reached for him, grasping the hairs at the nape of his neck and pulling his mouth to hers.

It became frantic, desperate. His pelvis was rubbing against her clit with each thrust and his chest hair against her nipples was making her shiver with want and all she could do was grasp at his back as he put his full weight on her, fucking her into the mattress like they only had hours to live.

(And didn’t they, almost?)

“I’m gonna – “ he groaned, his voice strained. “I’m gonna come, love.”

“Ahhh,” she moaned, blissfully incoherent. “Mmmm Killian, please.”

He practically growled, thrusting and grunting as she clung to him. Her orgasm hit her first, her cries barely audible as she panted, her nails scratching at his back. 

“Gods, Emma, fuck you feel – “ he muttered, the contractions of her orgasm having triggered his. He couldn’t stop praising her as he filled her up, her mouth the only thing quieting him.

Once they came back to Earth, she just kept kissing him. It moved from frantic and rushed to slow and … meaningful. Lips brushing together, tongues lazily laving and tasting, all while they were still intimately connected.

She couldn’t stop herself. It felt too good – _he _felt too good – and it was definitely not ever getting ‘out of her system.’

He wasn’t just in her system; he was a part of it. And she was a part of his.

It didn’t make any sense and no one in the history of the world would have predicted it, but there they were, fully sated sexually and yet not even close to having had enough.

The bastard had been right.

As they lazily kissed, she felt him harden inside her, so they slowly rocked against one another, kissing and touching and enjoying until they were frantically thrusting and he was filling her all over again.

They must have dozed off for a bit after that, but Emma woke up a little later to him spooned behind her, his erection pressed against her ass as they snuggled under his thin blanket.

_Just once more and then I’ll leave_, she thought, reaching back to stroke him awake.

This time she got on top, his tired smile shining through the darkness (finally someone turned off the light) as she sank down on him and rode him in elegant arcs.

They climaxed nearly together, then Emma rolled off him, shuffling to the bathroom to get a wash cloth them up. When she returned, he was still lying in the same position, goofy happy smile and absolutely no hint of an incoming I-told-you-so.

Even though he did.

She snuggled back into him until he fell asleep. Once he was lightly snoring, she eased his arm off her back and slid off the side of the bed, throwing her clothes on as quickly and quietly as possible.

Just as she’d proposed, they’d fucked 2-3 times, went to sleep satisfied, and then went their own ways.

Unfortunately, tomorrow was going to be _nothing _resembling normal.

And she was definitely going to need to buy a vibrator.


End file.
